


It's All For You

by mickian



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickian/pseuds/mickian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Mickey looks up at Lip again while Ian walks past him to start running hot water, and laughs out loud because there's nothing left to do. “I'm fuckin' fabulous,” he says and rolls his eyes. Maybe he will end up in that dress anyway considering how things are going.</i>
</p><p>Post 4x11 fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All For You

**Author's Note:**

> This episode, oh god. I'm sure this has been done lots of times by now, but I still needed to write my take on them getting home!
> 
> (Mickey POV so internalized homophobia and his language in general. )

  
Chicago's eerily quiet as they walk home, or maybe Mickey's simply not used to Ian being silent for so long lately and that's what's missing. They don't speak at all, but their shoulders touch occasionally, Ian bumping him on purpose once and smiling when Mickey looks back.

“We look like shit,” Mickey says once they reach the Gallaghers' house and Ian makes to step inside.

“They've seen worse, I'm sure,” Ian says, “if anyone's even up.”

Mickey hopes they're not, but of course this night refuses to be over just yet and his least favourite smartass Lip is standing in the kitchen, reaching into a cupboard.

“Hey,” Ian says and shrugs out of his jacket.

“Hey, I was just – _whoa,_ what the hell happened?” Lip drops the cup in his hand down into the sink, looking ready to leap, as if they're not already bloody and bruised, the fight clearly over.

“Long story.”

Lip's eyes flick from Mickey to Ian back to Mickey. “...Ian, he didn't fucking – ”

“Lip, no, come on – ”

“ _No_ , I fucking didn't, dickhead,” Mickey says and gets his own jacket off, shirt just as messy as his face. Lip at least shuts up and molds his expression into slightly less aggressive and more worried.

“Come on, Mick, sit down,” Ian says and nudges him towards the kitchen table where Mickey flops down in one of the chairs. He sighs, feeling like a champagne bottle that's been shaken violently for years and now finally popped; there was no stopping the explosion once uncorked, everything fizzing over for some intense moments, but now he's completely emptied and dried, and all he wants to do is sleep.

“...You okay, man?”

Mickey looks up at Lip again while Ian walks past him to start running hot water, and laughs out loud because there's nothing left to do. “I'm fuckin' fabulous,” he says and rolls his eyes. Maybe he will end up in that dress anyway considering how things are going, which makes him sigh again.

“Seriously, is there something I should know ab– ” Lip starts and Mickey wishes he would just shut his piehole for once.

“Terry's never been that happy about Mickey and me, but that's nothing new,” Ian cuts him off and comes over to the table to sit down next to Mickey with a bowl of water and a washcloth. “So figures he wouldn't be thrilled about Mickey celebrating him finally getting out of prison by telling everyone at The Alibi about us.”

“ _Holy shit_ , he – ?”

“Yeah,” Ian cuts him off and smiles at Mickey, and it's nothing like the smirk he's gotten so used to lately, which makes him warm inside despite the walk home in winter and how Lip keeps talking like Mickey isn't sitting _right there with them_. “He did. Guess we can become Facebook official now.”

“Dick,” Mickey mumbles again and rubs a tired eye with his dirty hand, because now Ian's just being a little shit, but he knows it doesn't matter anymore if they spell it out for Lip.

It wouldn't make a difference at all no matter what Mickey said – for all he knows the entirety of Chicago is going to know about this tomorrow, maybe already does – but it's hard to fight the rabbit automatically stomping in fear in his chest, even if Lip the fucker along with everyone else in this household already knew no matter how much Mickey has liked to pretend they didn't.

Judging by The Alibi's reaction no one seemed that shocked, and he can't figure out if they weren't surprised by _him_ saying it and that ugly manager at the club was right in telling him he looks more like a fag than he thinks, so everyone already knew – or if most people just don't give a shit in general.

The whole concept of the latter is hard to wrap his head around, would be kind of oddly disappointing in some ways given all the intense care he's put into _not_ letting people know – but then again, what _does_ someone gay even look like, and how would they have known about him? Mickey's not so sure anymore; for all the limp-wristed dudes sashaying around at FairyTale when he's been there with Ian, he's seen just as many broad beefy guys, even some he probably wouldn't have minded talking to if they were in another place.

Sure, he's seen all kinds of men the times he's dared to steal or otherwise gotten his hands on porn, but he always figured like two thirds of them were gay for pay – never felt like anything like him could actually exist out in the real world.

Mickey's always liked guys... twinkier, he guesses, though he'd never use that word for Ian – who sure used to be scrawny and faux-innocent thanks to his teenage looks when they started their whole thing, but there's not much of that left in him now – but Ian still doesn't seem to mind to occasionally act the way Mickey usually thinks about the word gay, and has always been the one exception that Mickey's accepted.

He's still always seen it as a personal victory, him being at least more of the man outside of the bedroom – always no one's bitch, _definitely_ not clingy and dependent in the way even Ian can be – as if as long as he kept his gay checklist as short as possible he'd be okay, he'd learn to live with some of the pesky wrongness in his brain-to-dick connection.

It didn't mean he'd let it consume him, he never allowed it to make up _all_ of him.

Mickey's just been someone who likes it up the ass – because it feels fucking amazing and guys are strong and broad and tall, and yeah, even at times when he's been the most disgusted by himself he's still had a hard time understanding how you can not want to get fucked by them. He's never wanted to not like what he likes; he just never wanted to be _gay_ , despite knowing how contrary that logic is.

Ian scoots the chair in closer, their knees knocking together, breaking him out of his thoughts, and lifts the cloth to swipe down Mickey's cheek.

“Pretty sure I'm gonna need a shower anyway,” Mickey mumbles, still thankful for the distraction because his headache from the punches is getting back in full force from all the thinking.

“Yeah, probably,” Ian says. “Let's just get the worst of it off so I can make sure your face is okay.”

“'m fine, man. Besides, you're just as bloody as I am.”

“Yeah, well,” Ian says and nothing else, reaching out to cup Mickey's jaw and tilt his head back gently. He brushes the cloth over his forehead, thumb stroking Mickey's cheek as the warm water trickles down and gets in the wound on his nose.

“Ow, ow – ” Mickey flinches back, hand coming up to his face. “ _Fuck_.”

“You think we need to call V?”

“The fuck would she do?”

“Kinda our go-to nurse.” Ian dips the cloth in the red water again, squeezing it between his long fingers. “She knows everything.”

“Thought they got kids. Probably sleeping.”

“Yeah, but I'm sure she won't be mad if – ”

Mickey groans and shakes his head. “I don't have the fucking energy, I'm _fine_ ,” he mumbles, because he can't stand the thought of more people coming over and witnessing this, though Kevin has most likely told her everything already.

“Alright,” Ian says and then he's smiling, making Mickey lift his eyebrows.

“The hell you smirking about?” he asks, but doesn't bother holding back his own smile as Ian just grins wider, and he closes his eyes again while Ian gets back to work.

“How's the jaw?”

“Not the worst he's given me.”

“Can you give us a pack of frozen peas or something?” Ian says, Mickey looking to the side and realizing Lip's still there watching them.

Lip rummages through the freezer before saying, “Here, that's all we got.” and tossing a package of broccoli with probably not enough left in it to even feed Liam.

“The hell you babying me for,” Mickey says in a half attempt to seem like he's objecting to all of this. “Stop acting like I'm some twelve year old girl who's never dealt with a few punches before.”

“Well if you have, you should know you're gonna need it,” Ian simply says and puts the package to Mickey's already cold skin, only just having started to heat up from the warm water. “I've been kicked in the jaw, so trust me, you'll need it.”

Mickey doesn't know why that of all things makes him want to cry and he swallows hard, looking to the side, mouth opening and closing. Ian grabs the back of his neck and leans in to press his lips to his, a two seconds kiss catching Mickey off guard, hands flailing for a brief moment, but Ian pulls away before he can process it enough to figure out what to do or how to react.

His eyes quickly flick to Lip who gracefully pretends to not have been looking at them, because staring at the ceiling with your hands in the back of your pockets isn't suspiciously casual at all.

“So,” Ian says brightly, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened and wipes the cloth under Mickey's nose, making him sniff, and puts it back in the bowl with the red filthy water again. “How about that shower?”

“Fucking finally.” Mickey stands up and kicks his shoes off, looking over at Ian's own bloody face where he's still sitting at the table. “You coming?”

“Be right there.” Ian nods and Mickey heads upstairs, hearing him start to say something to Lip, but doesn't bother to stick around to find out what.

He pulls his shirt off as soon as he's in the bathroom, wincing when he lifts one of his arms too high, body hurting in places he hadn't realized yet, and quickly unbuckles his belt to step out of his pants just as Ian walks through the door.

“Guess we both need to clean up, huh?” Ian says as he catches a glimpse of his own face in the mirror.

“Save a lot of water if we shower together,” Mickey says, grinning as Ian closes the door behind them and locks it. Mickey sits down on the edge of the bathtub, looking around. “Got any smokes in here?”

“...But we're gonna shower.”

“I just need a cigarette, man.”

Ian turns around and feels on top of the bathroom cabinet with his left hand, coming back with a packet that looks like someone's sat on it for hours and checking it before tossing it to him. “Yup, two left. Guess it's your lucky day.”

“Must be.” Mickey sticks the cigarette in the corner of his mouth before fishing a lighter from the pockets of his jeans, taking a sweet deep drag as Ian starts to awkwardly try to open his shirt one-handed. “Ey, c'mere.”

Ian pauses and Mickey rolls his eyes, reaching out to tug at the belt loop of Ian's pants to urge him on until he steps in front of him. He keeps his eyes on his fingers as he unbuttons Ian's shirt for him, glancing up at him as he parts the fabric. Swallowing, Mickey flicks his gaze down again, stroking his hands carefully down Ian's chest to his ribs, where a purple bruise is forming right above his tattoo.

His hands stop at the sides of his stomach to hold him for a moment, can't remember if he's ever done this before, just stroked his skin because he wants to, not because they're fucking and it's hard not to touch each other when you're naked and pressed together. Thumbing over his ribs, he says, “ _You_ need to call V?”

“I've had worse too.”

“Sure you have, tough guy.” Mickey puts his right hand back to the cigarette in his mouth as his left one falls down to Ian's jeans, popping the button open before he drops it again. “Should maybe take care of those yourself, 'cus I ain't gon' be able to give you more than a half-assed left-handed handjob if you get hard,” he says, because he might love a dick in his mouth but his dad did make sure he won't be able to use his lips for that for a while.

“Oh, you think it just pops up at the sight of you?” Ian says and Mickey grins back.

“I know for a fact that it does, Gallagher,” he says, reaching out to palm him, Ian squirming away and shaking his head with a chuckle.

He steps out of them, turning the water on and slapping Mickey's back. “Get in the shower.”

“The army that made you this bossy?” Mickey asks, but he puts out the cigarette and does as he's told.

It's crowded and slippery standing in a bathtub that's shitty for just one person, but all the more reason for Mickey to hold on to Ian's arms without needing an excuse. Ian slides his shampoo-slippery hands into Mickey's hair and kisses him deeply as the water heats them up, and not getting hard when your boyfriend – _god_ , boyfriend – is naked and pressed close to you is proven slightly more problematic than planned.

“Turn around,” Ian says and while Mickey's pretty sure he's not getting fucked right now, not with Ian's ribs already hurting, it's still a bit of a disappointment when all he does is rub Mickey's hair to make sure he gets all the dirt out of it. Ian's left hand strokes down from Mickey's scalp to massage his shoulders briefly before he wraps his arms around Mickey's waist and kisses the end of his hairline, face staying there.

“...You smelling my neck again?”

“Mhm,” Ian murmurs, continuing to nuzzling him, and Mickey leans back into the touch as the water falls over them, simply standing there until it's transparent again, all the pink gone down the drain.

*

“I'll go get you a shirt,” Ian says as Mickey dries himself off, and pulls on a pair of his sweatpants already on the bathroom floor before he slinks out. Mickey's inspecting the open wound next to his nose – not that bad, pretty deep but it stopped bleeding long ago and at least he didn't break anything – when Ian comes back and hands him clean boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in.

“We gotta crash on the couch.”

“What?”

“Lip and Carl got together on some charity mission and invited like ten kids to sleep here, so the room's full.”

“The fuck?” Mickey says, because _of all nights for this to happen_ , but Ian just shrugs.

“There's like five kids in our bed, not much I can do.”

“What about your sister's bed?”

“Carl and his girlfriend are in there,” Ian says and sticks a toothbrush in his mouth.

“They're like half the size of one of us and they're getting the bed?”

“I'm not sleeping somewhere my pre-teen little brother has ejaculated, even I have my limits,” Ian says around his toothbrush, “but feel free to go tell 'em to move if you want to change the sheets.”

“Whatever man, you – …” Mickey shakes his head. “Let's just get downstairs?”

Ian nods, scrubbing away at his teeth, so Mickey leaves to wait for him in the living room.

“You need a band-aid?” Ian asks as he comes down the stairs a minute later and holds up a first-aid box.

“Would you knock it off, already?” Mickey says and puts a pillow at the armrest of the couch, trying to figure out the best way for them to sleep and not clench his jaw too hard. “I told you I'm not some pussy.”

Ian pauses, fidgeting with the box in his hands and looking down at it. “No, you're not,” he says, meeting Mickey's eye again. “You're really brave, actually.”

Mickey shifts from one foot to the other as silence stretch between them. “Right, man, so should we – ” He clears his throat and looks away, hand coming up to scratch his nose to have something to do before remembering he shouldn't touch it, but at least Ian moves again.

“Most of the blankets are taken, but I think this will be enough not to hurt sleeping on the floor,” he says, “and if I take one of the chair cushions – ”

“Shut up and get on the couch,” Mickey says and waves a hand to get him to stop.

“No, seriously, Mick, you've been sleeping on the floor upstairs, I don't mind one night – ”

“Ian.” Mickey rubs his fingers over his eyebrow instead. “Would you shut the fuck up and get on the fucking couch?”

Ian straightens up from where he's started to lift the cushions and slowly does as he's told, eyes flicking to Mickey like a distrustful animal, carefully scooting in on the small green couch and wincing over his ribs as he lies down.

“Feel free to poke me if I hurt you but you kick me in your sleep and I _am_ throwin' you down on the floor,” Mickey says and flops down next to him, looking carefully at Ian as he does so, so he doesn't hurt him. It's crowded as hell and Mickey might not be tall but he's fairly built and Ian's practically a head taller than him, so there's no room not to touch even if they didn't want to.

Ian looks at him, but for once not daring like it's been lately, instead gently, before he puts his arm over Mickey's waist. Mickey lets him, keeps in his sigh and scoots in a little closer, willingly going when Ian tightens his grip and moves around a bit to mold them together, Ian ending up practically on top of him for both of them to fit.

“Hope you're looking forward to spending time with me 'cus I guess I ain't got a place to go back to now,” Mickey says, staring at one of the many cracks in the living room ceiling as he wraps his arm around Ian's shoulders.

“Not like your dad's gonna be there for a while, right?”

“Yeah but I got relatives, man. Whatever _they_ actually think, who the fuck knows what the bitch will tell 'em he'll do to them if they talk to me. For all I know they're coming here themselves to finish what he started.”

“Let's think about it tomorrow, 'aight?” Ian mumbles and sighs, for once sounding tired himself as he burrows down on top of Mickey's chest, his hair practically in Mickey's nose.

“You don' actually mind me staying here, though, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do, dumbass,” Ian says and glances up at him. “Been spending all this time with you already because you're horrible, just been waiting to kick you out once you finally did what I asked you to.”

Mickey twists his mouth around a snort and Ian's legs come to tangle between his until they're like octopuses caught in a net, Mickey not completely sure where one of them begins and the other ends.

Svetlana had tried to do the same once, when they got home from the wedding and he'd had to fuck her because he was sure his dad would be listening, acting like cuddles were part of the deal afterwards. The bitch had also taken his side of the bed and he couldn't really figure out a way to complain about it in a way that sounded manly and non-childish, so he'd simply broken free and quickly turned away, doing his best to suppress the feeling of wanting to set both the bed and his dick on fire.

The hair on Ian's calf scratches against his when he moves it, and Mickey wriggles his foot before relaxing.

“Probably gonna be out of a fucking job too,” he mumbles, because his thoughts can't stop no matter if he wants them to.

“Why? Not like she hasn't known – ”

“You think I can go back to them? Everyone will know, and fucking Kevin – ”

“First of all, Kevin knew already and he doesn't give a shit, and since when the hell would _you_ let others tell you what to do?”

“...Tell me what to do, huh? You mean more than tonight?” Mickey says, which is far from the only time, but at least Ian's nice enough not to bring up his dad again.

He shifts up on one elbow instead, his broad hand cupping Mickey's face before he leans down to kiss him, Mickey's hand coming up to hold the back of his head, pressing up into it and opening his mouth for him. Ian's hand slides down Mickey's chest, the kiss deepening before he pulls back.

“You know what?” he says, sounding determined.

“What?”

“I think you deserve a blowjob after tonight.”

Mickey chuckles and thunks his head back. “Fuck off.”

“You sure?” Ian's hand slips in under his t-shirt, Mickey doing his best not to groan because they're on the couch in a house where people live and could walk in on them, and his memories aren't exactly the best from when they've been in this situation before.

“Tomorrow, man,” he says, but there's no heat in it.

Ian nuzzles his throat and sucks hard enough to probably leave a bruise to go along with the wounds in Mickey's face.

“Mhm,” Ian hums, his hand sliding down to Mickey's boxers, teasing the hem of them, “I'm gonna blow you 'til you can't feel your legs anymore.”

“Jesus fuck, shut up,” Mickey says and grabs Ian's hand, yanking it up from where it's halfway down his underwear. He turns on his side, Ian ending up behind him, plastered to his back and their fingers interlaced, Ian's nose in his neck.

“Just letting you know what you have to look forward to.”

“So I do what you tell me to and get blowjobs, that's how this is gonna work out?” Mickey says, Ian biting his shoulder in reply. It's not like he's not getting blowjobs anyway, but he can't help but to add, trying not to sound as serious as he feels, “Anything else your highness wants to make him happy before I get those without complaints?”

Ian's fingers play with Mickey's hand for a moment, thumb stroking softly over the tattooed _K_ on his skin. “No,” he says. “I got all I need.”

Mickey swallows and sets his jaw. “Next time you try to pull shit like that I really am kicking your ass, though.”

Ian's quiet for a while before he hums. “You know that wasn't really for me, though, Mick.”

Mickey scoffs out loud and glances over his shoulder. “You're so fucking slow sometimes,” he says, wants to ask when the hell he's gonna get it, Ian always so goddamned stubborn and single-minded when he's angry he practically doesn't hear a thing.

He knows Ian had thought Mickey was getting married because he actually _wanted_ to as well, it didn't even seem to cross his mind that Terry had tangled his fingers in Mickey's hair and banged his head against the wall until Mickey was dizzy with it as soon as Ian had finally gotten to leave that damn day he'd walked in on them. His dad's voice hadn't been spit-flying angry anymore, just calm enough for Mickey to know he really fucking meant it as he told him he'd make sure Mickey would personally get to cut Ian open like a fish for dinner if he as much as heard they had run into each other again.

Mickey sighs, a part of him feeling like he should be mad at Ian, but he can't, not when Ian didn't say anything that wasn't true, and it's not like he put a gun to his head and forced him to do what he did – at least not in Ian's eyes. In Ian's eyes he gave him a choice, even if in Mickey's it never was one, not faced with the reality of Ian leaving him again.

The mere thought of it feels like a chokehold on him, he could never stand to watch it happening again, not now – not when Ian being the one person he feels okay around is a fact to him instead of a thought he's doing his best not to acknowledge, and if the one person he feels like he can even breathe properly around thinks he's a coward and got sick of him, what the fuck would he have left? Staying alive on his father's terms wouldn't matter anyway to him, living with fear of what will happen next but with Ian by his side will always be better than still breathing safely yet somehow not living at all.

So, no, Mickey can't get over the look of disbelief on Ian's face when he did exactly what the idiot had asked him to, as if Mickey pulled that stunt randomly out of his ass and it wasn't exactly what Ian told him to do – as if it's still impossible for him to get it into his head that Mickey's totally fucked for him.

“Really fucking slow sometimes,” he mutters again and glances over his shoulder at him, Ian looking back to meet his eyes in the dark, and he feels too damn much around him, but he's too tired to be scared of it.

Ian doesn't reply, just tightens his arm around him and presses a kiss to his hair when Mickey turns around again, feeling his eyelids getting heavier. Ian's chest is a slow and steady rise against his back, Mickey feeling it expand when Ian inhales at his neck again, his nose always seeming to find its way there. The weird jump in Mickey's chest starts up again, his heart pumping blood to make him aware of every part of his body, making him feel alive in a way he's never felt with anyone else – he knows he loves a few people; he'd do anything for his sister even when she's driving him nuts, and of course it's different what he feels for her or else he'd be worried, but it's still _love_ , yet not even half as fucking intense as what he feels for Ian.

Ian squeezes his hand and makes a little snuffling noise, body on its way to sleep and Mickey exhales, squeezing back before he lets his eyelids fall and thoughts finally drift away.

He's a tangled heap with another boy on the couch in the living room in a house full of other people who will probably all wake up before either of them, but for the first time in his life, Mickey feels like maybe it won't matter that much if someone walks down and sees them.


End file.
